Dig Two Graves, James Harper [e reader pdf best .TXT] 📗

being involved in her husband’s death, wanted her revenge? And the timing was nothing more than pure coincidence. After meeting Blair, witnessing her reaction to the photograph of the two sisters standing in the sea, the way she’d said I remember that, it didn’t seem possible.

He moved on.

‘Whoever it is isn’t giving up. I assume Leon told you what happened to me this morning.’

‘The phony cop. He didn’t give me any details.’

He ran through it for her, didn’t say anything about the reasons the guy had given for wanting to find her—the stalking of Gerald Bloodwell, the suspicious death of his son, her own supposed mental illness. At this point, all or none of it could be true. When he’d finished, he pulled out his phone.

‘I’ve got a picture of him. It’s not pretty. But I want you to look at it, see if you recognize him.’

The image of the guy crammed into the space between the wall and the toilet bowl, his face a bloody mess, didn’t faze her. Again, it made him wonder if she was accustomed to violence.

‘You don’t mess around.’

There wasn’t a lot to say to that.

She studied the photograph a long while before holding the phone out towards him.

‘It’s hard to tell after what you did to him, but I don’t think so.’

He took the phone, looked at the image again himself, the damage he’d done. She watched him, sucked air in through her teeth.

‘You should see your face.’

He didn’t ask her what she meant, didn’t want to hear what she might have seen showing itself in an unguarded moment.

He put the phone away, thinking that was the end of it. He was wrong. A frown pinched her eyebrows.

‘What did he say I’d done that supposedly made the police want to talk to me?’

It could’ve been nothing more than idle curiosity. It might have been a fishing expedition to determine how much he knew about her past. What it definitely was, no doubt about it, was a pain in the ass to answer. He picked the least-contentious option.

‘He said somebody made a complaint about you stalking them.’

‘Stalking who?’

‘Gerald Bloodwell.’

She didn’t react or say anything for a split second as the name registered. Then she laughed, a stuttering bark like a lunatic who’d missed her meds. She leapt from the bed, stared at him in disbelief.

‘Are you serious?’ She jabbed her breastbone with her middle finger. ‘Me, stalking him?’

‘That’s what he said.’

‘Ha! He’d know all about it if I did.’ She shook her head, totally bewildered. ‘Did he say why I’d want to stalk that old bastard?’

He had three options.

Tell a straight lie. Say no.

Tell the truth. He said you’ve got a problem with the Bloodwell family.

Make something up.

‘He thought it was to do with the business rivalry between Bloodwell and your father. You were doing it on his behalf because he’s too old and ill to do it himself.’

‘Good God. I don’t know how some people’s minds work.’

He didn’t offer any insights even though the idea had been spawned in his own fertile mind. Guillory would’ve said it was too many sugary drinks.

He was precisely no further forward, didn’t know who or what to believe. One thing he did know—they had to get going, find somewhere safer to make plans.

‘Get your stuff together. We need to go.’

‘What’s wrong with this place.’

‘Nothing. Except Liz knows where you are.’

‘She wouldn’t . . .’

He didn’t need to point out that even if a person starts out wanting to keep a secret, they change their mind pretty quickly when the toenail pliers come out. She started stuffing clothes into a small, battered suitcase.

‘I refuse to think about things like that.’

Refuse all you like, he thought but didn’t say.

8

They went down the fire escape to the parking lot behind the hotel where Liz’s Taurus was parked in the shadows of the hotel’s back wall.

‘Where to?’ she said.

‘It’s a secret. But you’re going to like it.’

In a past life, before he saw the error of his ways, he’d spent a lot of his time doing divorce work. What Guillory’s partner Ryder called snapping dirty pictures. Following cheating husbands and wives to sleazy hotels and catching them in the act. So, he was well-acquainted with all of the no-tell motels that offered anonymity and rooms by the hour. He directed her to one of them now, stopping on the way to get something to eat and drink in the room.

She smiled as they pulled into the parking lot.

‘My kind of place.’

With a spring from the worn-out seat sticking into his ass and the sound of an engine on its last legs in his ears, he could believe it. He left her in the car, went to check in. The desk clerk was eating a sandwich when he walked in. He made no attempt to hide it or disguise the fact as Evan walked up, but almost dropped it when Evan explained what he wanted.

‘Two rooms? And for the whole night?’

‘That’s right. And I want them at opposite ends of the motel.’

The clerk grinned at him, picked up his sandwich again, took a big bite.

‘Sounds like you’ve brought your wife.’

Evan laughed with him, tried to ignore the specks of half-chewed sandwich that landed on his shirt. He pulled out a big wad of cash. The clerk stopped mid-chew, stared at it like it was something tastier to eat. Evan leaned in closer.

‘The thing is, we’ll only be using one room. You won’t even have to clean the other one. I’ll give you a hundred bucks to tell anyone who asks that we’re in the empty one. All you have to do is keep it empty.’

He put two fifty-dollar bills on the counter.

The clerk thought about it. Evan watched his mind turning over. A hundred bucks in cash for an empty room that wouldn’t need cleaning. The cash would be in the clerk’s pocket before he was out the door. The rest of the game had to be played first, of course. The